


Fever

by Anirrahn



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, Sick Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 02:49:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/657231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anirrahn/pseuds/Anirrahn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simmons is sick and Grif won't stop bugging him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fever

“Just leave me the fuck alone.” Simmons groaned, headache pounding mercilessly against his skull. He shifted in bed, tangling himself further into his sheets and clenching his eyes shut as his body protested at the movement. Sweat made his clothes stick uncomfortably to his skin. He’d been hoping against hope that the fever would be passing by now but it seemed like it was only getting worse.

“Seriously,” his voice came out hoarse and cracking, “I don’t have it in me to deal with you being an asshole right now.”

He heard angry, measured footsteps come closer. Even with the covers over his head, he could tell that Grif was mad, “Don’t be such a fucking idiot, Simmons. At least let Sarge look you over.”

“What the fuck is your problem? It's not like I've been _shot_ , dumbass,” he held back a violent cough, taking a steadying breath before continuing, “I already told you. It’s just a fucking fever or cough or something. I’ll be fine if you would just leave me alone and _let me sleep_.”

Even as he said it, he knew it was hopeless; his whole team had been on his case since he’d collapsed in the caves earlier that day. He’d been feeling a little funny for about the last week or so; his throat had felt scratchy and his muscles strained. Simmons hadn’t paid it any special attention. He’d figured that it would pass. At the most, he thought he’d feel a little more tired than usual but that wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. All in all, he felt he had it covered.

Needless to say, getting knocked out from over-exertion in front of his entire team hadn’t been part of the plan, and waking up to three helmets hovering over him hadn’t helped either; only serving to further his overwhelming embarrassment.

That’s not to say that they were any help though. They may have crowded around him after he fell but he sincerely doubted that they were actually _worried_ about him. He shook his head bitterly at the thought because, honestly, when had any of them _ever_ shown a shred of interest over his well-being? They had just needled and harassed him when he’d regained consciousness, relentlessly goading him over the fact that he’d ( _allegedly_ ) fainted doing a routine patrol.

Waking up then hadn’t been too far off from any of the other times he’d been injured. When Simmons had come to, Sarge had shaken his head in disappointment and said a few choice words about what it meant to be a ‘real man’. Donut had studiously avoided looking at him. Apparently it was the only thing keeping him from breaking out into a fit of giggles over the (again— _alleged_ ) shriek Simmons had given before falling down. Grif had been no better. He’d…

He’d stood over Simmons and…

_Racing towards him, yelling, panic—_

Simmons tossed around in bed again.

Grif was hesitating. He knew from the way Grif paused and shifted next to the bunk that he didn’t know whether he should say what he was thinking. Curious, Simmons attempted to untangle his head from his sheets and look at him. The venture was successful, although it splayed his hair messily about as he wrenched a particularly difficult section off. _(Note to self: Regulation length hair-cut_ long _overdue.)_

He was met with Grif’s look of apprehension. Simmons resisted the impulse to roll his eyes. Obviously his asshole team mate was debating whether he was well enough to handle another insult of some sort. _Fucking unbelievable._ Here he was, lying in bed, too sick to even argue properly and this jackass was still intent on screwing with him.

“ _What?_ ” Simmons grunted, glowering from underneath the mess of hair blocking his line of sight.

Still Grif didn’t answer. Actually, he seemed a little startled to see Simmons looking straight at him. He clenched and unclenched his fists where he stood, gaping with his mouth slightly parted. Now that he thought about it, Grif was looking a little flushed… Simmons frowned and opened his mouth, preparing to ask whether he was feeling sick too, when Grif turned away and cleared his throat.

“It’s just,” he started slowly, looking everywhere but directly at him, “Maybe it’s a mechanical problem…”

Simmons felt his blood run cold.

 _Oh._ Oh no. He wasn’t…

“Like, maybe your wiring’s gone to shit and it’s fucking with your…” he briefly glanced at Simmons before guiltily tearing his gaze away, “… remaining organic parts.”

Simmons blanched.

Grif looked about as uneasy as Simmons felt, “All I’m saying is… that it would be stupid not to at least let Sarge check.”

_The room was too small. There wasn’t enough space between the two of them. Grif was standing too close. The room was uncomfortably hot. He wasn’t lying far enough away. He felt like he was burning up. The room was too fucking small and he needed to get away. He needed—_

He took a shaky breath.

This wasn’t good.

It had become an unspoken rule between the two of them to never bring up the surgery. The topic was completely off limits; taboo. An offhanded comment here or there was negligible. Occasional jokes about it were fine. Hell, even a few well-aimed jabs at the problems that came with the operation were okay. But serious, well-intentioned, _concern_? That was definitely out of the question.

Going down that road brought up far too many questions that neither of them could answer.

His throat felt dry, “I…”

Simmons faltered. He wasn’t quite sure what to say. They’d never actually sat down and had a real conversation about Grif’s accident and… the things that happened after it. And really, if it was all the same, he’d prefer not to have that conversation. At least, not right now.

They sat in silence, tension thick in the room, before Simmons finally looked back at Grif, gaze locking with his.

He tried again.

“I don’t think that’s it,” he resisted the urge to break eye-contact, “The… mechanical problem, I mean.”

A snort; Grif looked unconvinced.

“Look, I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about,” he was surprised that he was managing to keep his voice steady, especially since the room seemed to be getting smaller and clammier by the second. _Was it supposed to do that?_

“All I need is like a day to sleep it off and… and I’ll, uh, be back to annoying you in no time.” He forced a smile, but apparently his attempt at humour went unappreciated.

Grif’s frown only deepened. Simmons swallowed nervously, reflexively clutching his sheets tight. In any case, he supposed he was just thankful that he’d managed to steer them away from any more talk about the surgery. They stared at each other quietly. Grif seemed to be searching for something that suggested Simmons was wrong. When it seemed he’d found nothing, Grif’s posture slumped a little and he shook his head.

“I don’t know man.”

Grif sighed, eyes tired. The look on his face gave Simmons a start. He laughed incredulously and Grif immediately took a step back, startled.

“What the hell is it going to take to convince you?” he gave Grif a genuine smile this time, “Next thing I know, you’re gonna want to press your hand to my forehead and check for a fever yourself.”

He expected Grif to laugh, or to at least smile, at that.  He expected him to roll his eyes and say something to instigate another one of their stupid arguments. Instead, Grif watched him with a strange, determined look in his eyes. Before Simmons could say a word, Grif took two brisk steps towards him and stretched his hand out, the tips of his fingers brushing gently against the strands of hair covering his forehead.

Simmons stilled instantly, eyes going wide. Grif softly pushed his hair aside, pressing his hand firmly on Simmons’s forehead. His hand felt cool against his feverish skin. Simmons found himself frozen, unable to breathe from the proximity.

“Fever…” Grif whispered.

His hand slipped away from Simmons’s forehead and came to rest at the side of his face. Simmons couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move. Grif had somehow leaned closer. The coolness of his hand felt like ice on his flushed face and Simmons parted his lips to let out a small gasp. He hardly noticed when Grif sat down on the bunk. He was too focused on the fact that Grif’s thumb was brushing against his lower lip and he was getting closer and—

_Fuck. No, no, no, **no**._

Face burning, he leaned instinctively away from the touch, trying to flatten himself to his mattress. Grif’s hand fell away from his face and Simmons looked dazedly back at him. As soon as their eyes met, Grif blinked, looking for all the world like he’d taken a punch to his gut. Immediately he dropped his arm to his side, holding it stiffly as he practically jumped off the bunk.

“Fine,” Grif’s voice was rough and Simmons felt a shiver run down his spine that had nothing to do with his fever, “Do whatever the fuck you want.”

He didn’t answer. Grif didn’t seem to want to wait around for one either. Simmons was left to stare at Grif’s withdrawing form as he exited the room and slammed the door behind him.

In the sudden darkness of the room, Simmons found that he felt suddenly hyper-aware of everything around him. The slight indentation in the mattress where Grif had sat; the lingering warmth there. His skin felt hotter than before and his heart was pounding almost as awfully as his head had been. His throat felt tight and constricted. He couldn’t take a breath without it coming shakily.

For a second there, Simmons had thought that Grif was…

Simmons shook his head and threw the covers back over his himself, curling up on his side. He laughed softly, the empty room making it sound coarse and hollow. He was imagining things.

_Must be the fucking fever._

**Author's Note:**

> I found out about trope bingo in the RvB tag on Tumblr and thought I'd have a go at it. I figured writing some Grimmons would as good a place to start as any. :)


End file.
